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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25540705">Shattered</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrinceOfHell00/pseuds/PrinceOfHell00'>PrinceOfHell00</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Broken Heart Syndrome, Crying, Death, Explicit Language, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, it's very brief and nothing at all detailed, vent fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:40:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,007</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25540705</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrinceOfHell00/pseuds/PrinceOfHell00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"There are some griefs so loud/They could bring down the sky/And there are griefs so still/None knows how deep they lie." - May Sarton.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dean Winchester &amp; Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Shattered</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>My life has been pretty shit lately, what with losing my grandpa not even a year after my grandma, so I really needed to vent my feelings and emotions out through something like this. Essentially, I really needed to hardcore project onto one of my favs. I combined both my grief experience with losing my grandma, and the experience I've been going through so far with my grandpa's passing, all into one giant grief ball of fic. Writing this did actually moderately help, so that's a small plus.</p><p>This doesn't take place in any specific timeline in the show btw, tho it's not exactly an AU either. But it's a vent fic, so you can interpret it however you wish.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dean stared blankly out of the Impala's windshield, holding onto his little brother, who was sobbing uncontrollably against his shoulder.</p><p>Silent tears fell down his own face, but besides a hitch in his breath every other minute, Dean didn't make a sound.</p><p>He felt disconnected from the world around him, like he was floating outside of his body. He felt numbed from his emotions and feelings.</p><p>And yet... at the same time, he felt everything.</p><p>The sadness. The heartache. The anger. He felt it all–but not.</p><p>Him and Sam had known for months now that there was a possibility that this day would come soon, sooner than they'd ever imagined, but that still didn't obviously make the situation any easier. He just couldn't believe Bobby was really gone, that they would never get to see or speak with him ever again, that they would never even–as rare as it had been–get to hug him again. Hell, Dean was even going to miss hearing the old man yell and lecture them about whatever stupid thing he or his brother managed to get themselves into for the millionth time. He was going to miss Bobby... he already did.</p><p>Those were the thoughts that caused the tears to continue cascading down Dean's cheeks, that caused his already broken heart to break even further.</p><p>Bobby was never coming back. He was gone... forever.</p><p>Forever.</p><p>Dean felt his heart completely shatter. He wrapped his arms tighter around his brother, and began sobbing in earnest along with him.</p><p>~~~~~</p><p>The first couple months after Bobby's passing were hell on the Winchesters. Dean would sleep the majority of the morning away, not getting out of bed until eleven o'clock, and not going to bed until well after three in the morning. Sam almost never stopped crying, and had barely ate a thing the first two weeks, forcing Dean to have to threaten him into eating (which would usually end up being only a toast or a piece of fruit). They were a mess, to say the least.</p><p>Almost every night, Dean would dream of Bobby. They weren't always pleasant dreams, though. He wouldn't consider them nightmares, no, but they never left him feeling happy after waking from them, either. They often just left him feeling weird and off for the rest of the day. Sometimes he would only wake up feeling deeply sad, other times he would wake up with both that sadness and salty streams of tears rolling down his face–his throat tight with sobs he refused to let out.</p><p>Sometimes he hated those dreams more than his nightmares. And wasn't that a bitch; hating dreams about his surrogate father more than his demonic, Hell infested ones. What kind of logic was that? Hell if he knew.</p><p>Another shitty occurrence that took place almost every night, was the strange physical pain he would experience. He would be lying in bed, staring at the wall as his mind would drift to memories of Bobby, and then all of a sudden, he would start to feel like he was about to have a heart attack. His chest would begin to tighten and hurt, his breathing would become short, and his left arm would begin to ache and feel tingly. The first time it happened, he freaked, thinking he was about to die and leave his brother all alone in their cruel world. Obviously he didn't, but before he managed to calm his breathing down and get his brain thinking rationally again, he sure as hell thought he was. It wasn't until the next day, after doing some research, he discovered that what he experienced was known as <em>"Broken Heart Syndrome"</em>; a condition that occurs when a person under an incredible amount of physical or emotional stress starts mimicking the symptoms of a heart attack. The medical site he read about the condition on said that most people made a full recovery in two months time–which thankfully, had been true for him. It didn't make the weeks he suffered through it any easier, though.</p><p>Almost every Goddamn night he would lie in bed, silent tears streaming down his face, experiencing that excruciating pain. It simultaneously felt like someone was pressing down hard against his chest, while also reaching inside of him and grasping his battered and broken heart–squeezing it so tight, it felt like it would be crushed; bursting it into bloody bits of confetti inside his chest by the imaginary person's hand.</p><p>It hurt so fucking bad.</p><p>It made him want to scream, to beg for the pain to stop–to scream and beg for the man who raised him to be brought back to life.</p><p>It really did feel like he was dying.</p><p>Maybe a part of him even wanted to die.</p><p>But he couldn't. He couldn't do that to his little brother–up and leave him all alone.</p><p>Even after he made a full recovery from his <em>"broken heart"</em>, the shattered remains of his heart still bled and smarted something fierce.</p><p>If you thought Dean Winchester was pissed off at God before, well, now he was fucking livid. After all the bullshit he's been put through in his life, losing countless family and friends, how was it that God still managed to find new ways to fuck up his life.</p><p>It wasn't fair.</p><p>
  <em>It wasn't fucking fair!</em>
</p><p>He understood that life wasn't supposed to be fair–yes, he got the memo–but why the hell did God find it necessary to take away his second father–the man who fucking raised him and his brother for the first few years of their lives. It was fucking <em>bullshit</em>.</p><p>This wasn't how it was supposed to be. It felt so <em>wrong</em>–the <em>world</em> felt wrong.</p><p>Bobby was supposed to be alive, he was supposed to be alive for many more years, not fucking dead before the age of seventy. Bobby was supposed to be <em>alive</em>.</p><p>They needed him. <em>Dean</em> needed him.</p><p>Nothing felt right anymore, and nothing ever would again.</p>
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